


Feathers

by Harmony



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmony/pseuds/Harmony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Echizen rolled his eyes, but they seemed to gleam – small scraps of warmth from the old Echizen the Seigaku regulars knew and loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was a request from mnemo_syne, who gave me the prompt "feathers". Also posted at my Livejournal :) Any feedback would be very much appreciated.

  
The next time Kunimitsu saw him after years and years wasn’t in the most expected of places.  
  
He wasn’t even on the court: he was in a local courtyard with someone – a little kid, or so it appeared – underneath the light drizzle of rain, tangled strands of black hair clumped and dripping. His body hadn’t changed, still small and slender, Kunimitsu noticed; he hadn’t grown any more muscular and not that much taller than they’d all probably have expected. Raindrops trickled down those thin arms, mingled with sweat. His furrowed eyebrows, the creases in his face, the fire in his eyes … Kunimitsu had only on very rare occasions seen that passionate determination from that boy before.  
  
But then again, Echizen was playing impromptu badminton with a kid and sucking _miserably_ at it.  
  
Needless thinking flowed through Kunimitsu’s mind instantly: _he shouldn’t be playing out in the rain, however light; sportsmen are supposed to take good care of their bodies; he’s … actually using a tennis racquet to play badminton; how are they supposed to control the shuttlecock properly if the feathers are all soaked?_  
  
Of course, he didn’t say anything. He was silent where he stood, underneath the shaded roof of his umbrella. The boughs of the tree above him creaked. Even from afar, he could see the little girl grinning brightly, laughing, her eyes sparkling, her lips moving to say, _I love playing with you, Ryou-nii_.  
  
Echizen rolled his eyes, but they seemed to gleam – small scraps of warmth from the old Echizen the Seigaku regulars knew and loved.  
  
Kunimitsu turned around and walked home, leaving them to their moment.  
  


* * *

  
‘Morning, Buchou.’  
  
The next time Kunimitsu saw him after that drizzling afternoon was, again, hardly in the most expected of places: at the front door of his own house the very next morning, his racquet slung over his shoulder. They both stood there momentarily, blinking at each other; it must have been years since the last time they’d spoken in this way, but it was as if all that time between then and now had been compressed, erased, and Echizen was looking up at him with a casual expression, like they were back to where they were years before.  
  
‘You still call me that.’  
  
Echizen coughed several times, before smirking. ‘What else am I supposed to call you?’  
  
Kunimitsu frowned and swept the other young man in as he gave a sneeze. It looked to him like Echizen’s personality hadn’t changed in the slightest, and maybe that was a little comforting.  
  
‘You’re sick. You shouldn’t have been playing in the rain yesterday,’ he muttered, closing the door behind them.  
  
Echizen raised his eyebrow. ‘Yeah, I was sitting for my parents’ friends. Got told off, though, when they found out I took her out into that weather. Child-minding’s not really my calling,’ he answered hazily, helping himself to a tissue and blowing his nose. ‘And I did see you. It made me want to play tennis against you again. So, here I am.’  
  
If anything, Echizen had never really been this talkative, or eloquent, but Kunimitsu understood. He and the others had missed him, too.  
  
‘You can’t play in this condition.’  
  
‘Actually, I need to sweat out my fever,’ the black-haired young man teased. ‘And I can still play you even when I’m sick.’  
  
There was that mischievous look in his eyes again, nostalgic of the old Echizen they all remembered. Maybe Kunimitsu saw, too, something of the little girl from the day before: that clear sparkle of anticipation and excitement. It had been a long time. The skin of his own fingertips prickled suddenly, and to his own surprise, he welcomed it.  
  
He turned away and began walking to his bedroom. ‘I’ll get my racquet.’  
  
‘Great,’ answered Echizen, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.  
  
Kunimitsu, however, stopped suddenly at the doorway and turned back to the other young man expressionlessly. ‘Really, Echizen. Badminton?’  
  
‘Don’t say _a word_.’


End file.
